Gillian looked for somewhere to sit. “We have scarcely met,” she said.
“True, but if you’re Ross’s friend…” Allie trailed off and picked up a porcelain figurine from the table. “So you worked as a nurse during the War?”
There seemed no polite way of escaping Allie’s questions. “Yes.”
“And that was when you met Ross.”
“Yes.”
“Your husband must be a pretty modern guy.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The old-fashioned kind—you know, the ones who still have a foot in the last century—they probably don’t like their wives to go gallivanting around a foreign country with an unattached male friend.”
Informality was one thing, but this was another matter entirely. “I am a widow,” Gillian said coldly.
As if realizing she’d gone too far, Allie set down the figurine and met Gillian’s eyes with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “I’m sorry,” she said, the simple words covering Gillian’s loss and her own rudeness. “It really is none of my business.” She strode to the door, her short skirt swirling about her knees. “Please let me know if there’s anything you need.”
She left, closing the door gently behind her. Gillian took a moment to catch her breath. Why had Allie found it necessary to probe into her marital status? Why had she assumed that Gillian’s supposed husband would forbid her to see an old wartime friend?
Because that is exactly what would happen, Gillian thought. Of course, if she were married, Toby might never have escaped, and neither of them would have come to the United States.
Unwilling to pursue that line of thought, Gillian picked up the telephone receiver. She dialed the operator and asked for the Roosevelt Hotel. Hugh answered on the third ring.
“Gilly!” he exclaimed. “Where are you? I expected you back hours ago.”
“You needn’t have worried, Hugh. We are still with Mr. Kavanagh.”
“Well, you’d better get back here soon. Warbrick has been haunting the hotel since this morning.”
“I did attempt to ring him at his hotel.”
“He said he’s been out of town. He nearly blew his top when he heard you were with Kavanagh.”
Perhaps because he hadn’t known that Gillian was coming to America herself, let alone that she might contact Ross directly.
“I tried to explain what had happened,” Hugh continued, “but he just kept shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Wouldn’t tell me why he was so upset, just that he wasn’t going to leave until you got back.”
Gillian had already begun to think that she’d made a very poor decision in agreeing to stay at Oak Hollow. “Toby and I are stopping with friends of Mr. Kavanagh’s on Long Island. We shall not be back until tomorrow morning.”
“It sounds as if you’ve been very busy, Gilly. I can’t wait to hear the details.”
That was something Gillian did not anticipate with any degree of pleasure. “I shall see you tomorrow morning, then. Give my regards to Ethan, and assure him that Toby and I are quite well.”
“Swell.” He paused. “Be careful, Gilly. But then, you’re always careful. Or at least you used to be.”
He hung up, and Gillian was left with his unsettling words ringing in her ears. Hugh was hardly a model of discretion himself. If he thought she had been reckless in her dealings with Ross, he must really be concerned.
But he had agreed that she ought to allow Toby some contact with his father. Even if he hadn’t, she would have relied on her own judgment, not his.
Judgment she had begun to doubt more and more as the day went on.
As for Ethan…He had always been protective when they were children, angry when her father had been more critical than usual or had made it difficult for her to leave Snowfell to meet him. When they’d met again as adults, after a separation enforced by Sir Averil and facilitated by Ethan’s years away in Europe and the East, she’d told him about Toby’s real parentage, but she’d made it very clear that she had no desire to rekindle her past with her American lover. She couldn’t guess why he would be so upset about her having met with Ross.
After returning the receiver to its cradle, Gillian stepped out of the room. She was relieved to find the hall empty. Moving quickly to the stairs, she paused at the landing. She heard the low hum of Ross’s voice and the higher pitch of Toby’s light alto coming from Toby’s room.
The temptation to listen was great, but she deliberately closed her ears and continued on to her room. She would bide her time until she could speak to Toby herself, and then she would be free to spend the rest of the night alone.
Alone with the cruel little voice that kept asking her if she’d made the worst mistake of her life on that painful day twelve years ago.
GRIFFIN WAS WAITING for Ross at the bottom of the staircase.
As restrained as Grif had been compared to Allie, Ross had a feeling he wasn’t going to get away without answering a few questions. He’d noticed the way Griffin had watched first him and then Gillian, silently appraising, his golden eyes narrowing from time to time as he listened to their brief exchanges…or lack of them.
Whatever Grif was thinking, it was better that he knew at least some of the facts rather than speculate and come up with all the wrong ideas.
“How about that drink?” Ross suggested.
“Has Mrs. Delvaux retired?” Griffin asked.
“I haven’t seen her since I went up.” Ross passed Griffin and walked into the summer parlor, heading straight for the sideboard. “What she told you was the truth, you know.”
Griffin considered Ross from the doorway, one brow cocked. “Which part?” he asked.
“About our meeting while I was recuperating in a London hospital.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Ross poured himself a brandy. “We got pretty close back then. You know how it was. People formed strong bonds during the War, and it didn’t really matter who you were or where you came from.”
“I remember.”
“Anyway, she got married, and I went on to join the force.” He paused, wondering if Grif had heard anything about the scandal while he and Allie had been away. “I didn’t hear from her until she phoned me from England a couple of weeks ago. She thought we should meet again for old times’ sake.”
“Old times,” Griffin repeated. He wandered toward the windows. “You don’t have to play these games with me. I owe you more than I can repay. I would never presume to judge you.”
Ross downed the drink and poured another before he had time to think. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And I would accept that, Ross, if it weren’t so clear that you’re in some kind of trouble.”
He didn’t know. Ross expelled his breath. “And you think this ‘trouble’ I’m in has something to do with an old friend from the War?”
“She’s more than an old friend, isn’t she?”
The second drink disappeared in seconds. Ross set the glass down a little too forcefully.
“We were close,” he said. “Very close. But it didn’t work out.”
Griffin sat on the sofa, stretching his arm across the back. “What about